Wrought in this cocoon of leaf and sprig,
I was born and lost in the piney woods.
The wolves were heard more than I was,
Adrift in that isolating sea
Of dirt and trees,
Where creatures line their homes
With lonely sighs.
There I lived,
And there I died,
Surrounded by a euphony
Of birds who swam the wooden sea;
Who stretched their feathered oars
And sallied forth
To worlds unknown to me.